


The Ballad of Miya Atsumu

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 35mm, Gore, M/M, Prom King, Violence, atsumu wants prom king, based off of the ballad of sara berry, major tw for depictions of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26749051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "’Tsumu, " his father said, "Why be so calm? There's just no future for a Prince at Prom.”no, atsumu has a future; that much, he's sure of.and he's even more sure of the fact that he'll do anything to get that future.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	The Ballad of Miya Atsumu

**Author's Note:**

> AGAIN, MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOD, VIOLENCE, AND DEATH. READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.
> 
> based off of the song "the ballad of sara berry" from 35MM . go listen for background, it makes the story better.
> 
> not beta read cause i got excited and posted it heheh

Walking down the hallways was as easy as it could be, worshippers falling at his feet like he was a king- and he was. He was everything; he was an idol in the school, the most popular boy around, the one with the hottest boyfriend. Or at least, he was. But of course, things never go as planned. There was the beloved Kita Shinsuke, someone he envied still, limping down the hallway in his crutches, cast adorned on his leg. People flocked around him; more than usual. People that used to flock around Atsumu. 

Should Atsumu be feeling bad for his older classmate? Yes, definitely. But the sympathy points were racking up for the gray-haired male, and rumors already flew around the school as prom position voting drew near. The whole student body was going to vote for Kita Shinsuke; the mere thought made the blonde Miya boy scoff. Pity votes is all they were. Atsumu still had a chance.

“Kita for King!”

“Vote Kita for Prom King.”

Posters adorned the walls of the school, and people began bowing to Kita as if he had already been crowned king of the senior prom. No, he wouldn’t be.

Atsumu’s brain was wired in one way from the moment he saw Kita’s popularity grow; win. Win, win, win. His brother gave him weird looks when he was home, but the same could not be said for their parents. This was something they wanted just as much as Atsumu, but Atsumu would be taking twice the risk. The risk of pain, humiliation, tragedy, failure, neglect. He never had to fear that before that stupid senpai of his broke his damn leg in a stupid car crash. Pity became power, and Atsumu despised that. Kita Shinsuke was never popular before he broke his leg, but now his face and his name were everywhere Atsumu was; following him like a ghost.

“Atsumu,” his father said, “life is a prom, I know you won’t disappoint me and mom.”

Atsumu wouldn’t disappoint them, he knew he wouldn’t. The taste of silver on his tongue was as prominent as any, and he couldn’t tell if the silver had an irony tang to it or not, but all he knew was that he was craving the crown, the glory, the status. Atsumu Miya wanted it all, but how could he ever get it? How could he have what he wanted when someone that stood above it all stood above him, too? Atsumu was supposed to have the power, the authority, the strength and influence. But a shrinky male with a crippled leg was now his opponent? Pathetic. Weak. Stupid. Who? Him, or Kita? Maybe both, at this point he wasn’t sure.

The letters in his head were upside down, backwards. The sentences in his brain shattered, shakily written with a pen that steadily ran out of ink. His fists balled up, and the pen snapped, shards of plastic scattering onto the floor like rose petals in the wind, only this display was much more real.

Atsumu, more than anything--more than victory, more than power--thirsted for the blood of the roses he longed to clutch in his hand as he claimed the crown. The petals he would have would not shatter as his dreams had when Kita Shinsuke received the pity votes. Atsumu longed for the riches of a scepter and a sash, a seat at the top and the applause that would make anyone’s ego grow. He longed for his own dance, a song for him and him alone, where all eyes on him would be eyes of pain and misery, or eyes of those who looked up to him; who desired to be him, to be as good as he was. He wanted to hear those mournful words from Kita Shinsuke when he would cry, “Oh, Miya-kun, how did you get to where you are?” and Atsumu would declare, “I fought for it.” Miya Atsumu longed to be the king of the land known as high school, the kingdom where so little was agreed upon. He wanted . . . to be the best there.

“Vote ‘Tsumu.”

“Choose ‘Tsumu.”

“Vote for ‘Tsumu Miya.”

Posters taped up, words echoing through his head. Me. I’ll win, I know I will. That tiny cripple doesn’t know what's coming.

Anyone in the halls would assume that poor Miya Atsumu had lost his mind, unravelling into thoughts only consumed by the word prom. Anything unrelated to prom was irrelevant--even schoolwork. He exiled his friends, his clique, his brother, his boyfriend. Still, after all his focusing, Kita held onto the lead in the race to the prom crown.

His brother told him that socially, he was dead. Osamu asked him why he even bothered trying to get the prom king position still at this point. Atsumu shrugged, but he simply didn’t want to give up after all the effort he put in--which was way more effort than Kita, by the way.

Then, after weeks, he gets a text from his boyfriend, Sakusa Kiyoomi. He sighs with a breath of relief when he sees the name light up on his screen; until he reads the text below it:

“I’m taking Kita to the senior prom.”

Life crumbled and the metallic tasting petals grasped in his palm flew away into a whirling wind that never seemed to end. Where had Atsumu gone wrong? No, he knew. The moment he felt power . . . it wasn’t his fault. His problem was liking it. The way it felt. The way praise removed the taints from his impure skin, his repulsive heart. The glory and fame removed insecurity, but at the end of the day, it was simply shielding him from something he knew he’d have to face; the future.

"’Tsumu, " his father said, "Why be so calm? There's just no future for a Prince at Prom.”

Losing won’t do, no. . . that’s not what he wanted at all. . . winning was the only way, and his future depended on it. Without this title. . . atsumu was nothing. He would never be anything without the dream of his parents. Some part of him wondered why they hadn’t chosen Osamu instead, but Osamhu was happy, fulfilled. Atsumu supposed it was his own emptiness and gullibility that made him easy to manipulate. He wanted a purpose-and that was becoming Prom King. No matter how trivial people called it, it wasn’t trivial to him.

He was so close to the crown he could taste it, and every moment he could taste it, the more he craved the opportunity to finally devour it whole. Atsumu was many things-arrogant, cocky, annoying, loud, analytical, ambitious. He was going to be crowned the king of high school hell. But, of all those things, Atsumu was least of all; rational.

It was doubtful that he had a single rational bone in his body, staring in mirrors with only a single thought floating through his brain. . . there’s seven reasons this crown’s not good as got, and so the night of prom came, people begging for mercy, Atsumu would show none. He has a future. Thus, begins his plot.

“P” is for Patricia drinking poisoned punch,

“R” is for Raquelle, bashed by a rock; crunch.

“O” is what Akagi said when ‘Tsumu bludgeoned his brains.

“M” is for Marianna’s marinated remains.

“K” is for Kiara, quiet, drowned in the pool.

“I” is for Izumi’s pieces, spread ‘round the school.

“N” is for the number that bribed the student council.

And “G” is for Getting Got when crippled Kita calls the cops.

He got his silver, he got his stupid crown. He got the victory of standing on the stage, floating above every other important thing. He got the victory of not seeing Kita at prom, the victory of his boyfriend standing back by his side as he danced through the crowd, to one final song. Hands covered in the memory of all the blood shed, eyes flickering with an insanity that rushed through his veins. Donned with a scepter and a sash, a poster on his wall reading ‘Prom King’, Miya Atsumu had won; crowned the king of high school land.

Was it all in his head, being the king? He wasn’t sure. Up a wall, he had driven himself, into a corner that there was no backing out of. He had struggled against the silver on his wrists, his crown torn off his head.  
“But i’m the king!” he would scream and thrash.

He saw their faces. The dead. The living. His father, his brother, his boyfriend. He saw all of them.

Silver on his wrists, into a tight straightjacket and a thick padded cell, screaming “I'M THE KING OF HIGH SCHOOL LAND!”

At least in his head he’s still the king of a high school land.

“Check ‘Tsumu”

“Choose ‘Tsumu”

“Vote for ‘Tsumu Miya.”


End file.
